


Kinetic

by JaneAire



Series: Neutron Star Collison [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Cuddling, Dirty Talk, Fluff, Galaxy Garrison, Garrison days, Grinding, M/M, Masturbation, Nudity, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Sharing a Bed, Shatt, These tags are more little warnings than anything lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-10
Updated: 2018-02-10
Packaged: 2019-03-16 03:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13627341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneAire/pseuds/JaneAire
Summary: Shiro’s nervous. Matt is too. It's still new, still raw, and the air between them is hard to breathe. Matt's glad for the several feet of space between them because he needs it for a moment, still trying to process how dizzying it is that Shiro can look at him andknowwhen Matt wants him. And Shiro wants him back.| Shiro is overworked. Matt just wanto to make him feel good. |





	Kinetic

**Author's Note:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Shiro’s frustration is palpable, tangible, suffocating in the small space of their shared dorm room. His breath comes in even huffs every few moments from across the room accompanied by the scuff of his rough palms against his tired eyes. Not for the first time, Matt sits his textbook down on his lap and turns to shyly examine his roommate, to stop and assess if now was the time to intervene. Unsurprisingly, Shiro looks like he's on the verge of breakdown and not for the first time this week, this day. Bowing over a none too small mountain of student essays, the tension is visible in the ripple of muscle in the valley between his shoulder blades, the way the backs of his biceps twitch with anxiety as Shiro’s head dips closer and closer to the desk in a desperate attempt to decipher meaning from freshman essays. 

Now, however, it appears he's given up entirely, shaking only slightly with his head buried in his hands with a groan, and Matt feels his stomach drop out. Shiro’s backpack lay untouched at the foot of his bed, his own homework still undone even as the dim dying of the dusk decides to bleed through the cracks in the window shade, pulled so that Matt could squint better at his laptop from his own bed. He's still got homework tonight himself, but it takes less than a moment of watching Shiro tear himself apart that he's shutting down and throwing things under his bed. 

“Dude,” Matt murmurs, perhaps softer than he intends, “break time, okay? Don't kill yourself.” 

Shiro doesn't loosen his stance, but does lift his head just slightly, providing a dry chuckle to the air that's oddly wet at the back of his throat, keeping his hands clasped before him. 

“Think you told me the same thing when I signed up to TA in addition to class,” Shiro snorts with little mirth behind it, and Matt rolls over on his bed to face Shiro’s desk a little better. “I can handle this. We're only four weeks into the semester. I'm adjusting.” 

Matt wants to point out he's being a moron--it's four weeks into the semester and he's already drowning. Just wait till midterms--ones to study for and shitty freshman ones to grade--Shiro’s gonna fall apart. Instead Matt purses his lips and stands, stretching his arms above his head and rising up onto his tiptoes to release some of his own tightness, before strolling to the closet and dropping his uniform pants to his ankles without ceremony, pulling his shirt down his arms as an afterthought. 

“Want some help with that?” He asks, already knowing Shiro’s going to refuse to let Matt touch a single one of those precious papers. Shiro doesn't look back at Matt when he speaks, doesn't look back as he hears the hangers clack, doesn't look back as Matt tugs a pair of grey joggers up his hips and sneakily snags an oversized tank top that clearly doesn't belong to him. He gives it a quick sniff for good measure and when it proves to be half clean, tugs the black top over his head. 

The thick strap half hangs artfully off his shoulder, and Matt even pauses to admire himself in the mirror--his hair is a wreck and his glasses are askew, but Shiro’s tank top is soft and swallows some of his gangly frame, rucking up at his hips where they're too wide in comparison to Shiro’s stupid, unrealistic dorito shaped body. 

Not that Matt's complaining or anything because rooming with Shiro. It's, uh, it's pretty fucking nice. 

Not, not _fucking_ nice, it isn't like _that,_ just--

Forget it, nevermind. 

Shiro’s head is entirely on the desk now, face down and smearing the hot moisture of his breath across some poor kid's essay on flight safety techniques and how to improve them, but the stiff tension has bled a bit from his shoulders underneath Shiro’s own grey tank, plastered to his skin and distracting Matt in ways that are totally inappropriate in context. The light is starting to go, but there are still slivers of violent amber hues peaking into the room, spying on them and dying strips of Shiro’s skin tawny tones. 

“Takashi,” Matt says, more forceful this time from just a few feet away. “Break time. C'mon--twenty minutes, okay, I'll set a timer. You know you'll be more productive if you just shut your brain down for a hot second.” 

“I don't think I can,” Shiro groans, but Matt is pleased to note it's lost that desperate edge to it; he's coming away just slightly from the brink of overwhelming despair. 

It's not enough, though. 

Matt wishes for a lot of things, the way Katie used to wish on stars. He wishes he were funnier, maybe cooler, maybe smarter--he doesn't know everything, but fuck, he wants too. He wishes he were better looking. He wishes he were a better friend. He wishes just for five minutes to be the top of his class just to diminish this weight that Shiro seems to be bearing at all times, just to prove he's good enough. 

The things that come easy to Matt--the numbers, the systems, the theories--don't come easy to Shiro. Sometimes they don't come to Shiro at all. And that's the crazy fucking thing that Matt can wake up some days and not have to try when Shiro is at the top because he tries so fucking hard just to prove himself. 

Matt isn't stupid, okay. He gets that this friendship is founded on the fact Shiro needed a smart kid to hang around. But he also knows this isn't that anymore. This is different. This is more. 

He wishes he were more interesting so that Shiro might be better distracted, more inclined to put away his work and come talk with him. He wishes he were better at comforting him. He wishes he were better, period, so that Shiro might wanna come over here and kiss him senseless like he's been dying to since they separated that morning. 

It isn't like that, though. That's okay. This is better. 

“Yeah, you can, c’mon,” Matt laughs, positive, strolling over to the foot of Shiro’s bed and plopping himself down on the edge, giving Shiro the most unsuspecting look he can muster. 

Shiro looks at him now, for the first time since Matt arrived at the fucking dorm three hours ago, and it's sort of worth it to watch his thick brows skyrocket into his hair, his dark eyes wide and watching. Yeah, he knows. 

The shift in the air is palpable immediately. The kinetic energy transforms the tension into a new kind, and there's a frozen moment between them before Shiro transverses the few feet between his desk chair and the head of his double bed, lowering himself against the headboard, pillows propped behind him. He's still in his Garrison pants, belt buckled and stupid sock garters visible beneath the pressed material. His tank top is too tight and Matt half pretends it's intentional on his part, even though he's positive it's not. 

Shiro’s nervous. Matt is too. It's still new, still raw, and the air between them is hard to breathe. Matt's glad for the several feet of space between them because he needs it for a moment, still trying to process how dizzying it is that Shiro can look at him and _know_ when Matt wants him. And Shiro wants him back. 

Yeah, he needs a minute. 

He eventually scrambles up from his stupid position on the side of the bed, rising and walking in lieu of the graceless shuffling that would ensue otherwise, and stumbles closer to Shiro--and God, this close, he can watch the way Shiro’s breath catches, the way his adam's apple bobs in throat, flashy the way it dips under his skin--before deciding to land himself between Shiro’s knees, studying his clavicle seriously. 

It isn't like it usually is. They've only done this a handful of times, giggling in the dark against each other's mouths, fumbling hands that stay above their waists, searching eyes and murmurs of _is this okay? Are you sure?_ There's always been a lightness to those events even in the thick air and the awkwardness of being half hard against your best friends thigh and trying your best to ignore his similar situation. There's soft kisses to his neck and giggling, trying to figure out what it all means when it's two am and they're still tangled together, a little sticky, just holding one another. 

This is different. Shiro isn't smiling now and his hesitancy is telling. Matt's immediately conscious of how silly and gangly he looks in comparison to the fucking Adonis in front of him and what it means that he's wearing Shiro’s shirt. Everything is still new and weird and they should really talk this out--

But Shiro’s hands are suddenly tempting forward, reaching out for the air in front of him, and it takes several beats for Matt to realize Shiro’s batting eyes and grasping hands are him asking for permission to touch him, and so Matt shuffles forward on his knees until Shiro’s hands settle on the round curve of his hips, just the place where Shiro’s shirt rucks too high on his hips. 

Shiro’s still, waiting, and his lips are parted and his eyes low-lidded and searching and fuck, Matt shouldn't be so turned on because this was just to relax for a few minutes-- 

“Stop thinking,” Shiro murmurs, one of his thumbs rising from its paralysis to dip under the hem of the tank and brush across the skin of Matt's hip. 

Yeah. That does it. 

Matt's slow going and fumbling with his hands, but he reaches up with both of them and Shiro leans forward to meet him halfway. Matt's lithe fingers tangle in undergrowth of his scruffy undercut, palms cupping his cheeks and thumbs stroking just under his eyes where the skin is the softest. He leans forward until he loses his balance, crashing against his chest and Shiro surges up to catch him, one steadying hand on his hip and the other on his cheek, lips pressing against each other immediately. 

It's not the fast and uncontrollable pace they're used to; this is different. Shiro’s so slow and tender, his jaw working one, twice,  
again and then once more against Matt's mouth in a way that has Matt shaking against him, his hands tightening to fists behind Shiro’s head, pressing himself closer. Shiro’s own chest is warm, full of a bubbling nervousness he can't name. 

Shiro’s hands are shaking, well aware of their inexperience so visible in the dying daylight until Matt's hands slide up the smooth column of his neck again, resuming their frozen kiss with firm but tentative brushes of his warm mouth. His glasses bump more than once against Shiro’s cheeks, the lower rims biting against the skin there, and Shiro reaches up to pluck them away. 

Squinting, Shiro can't help but huff at chuckle at Matt whose pouting in the low light, even as his hands roam over Shiro’s broad shoulders in slow strokes. 

“I need those to see,” Matt deadpans, sliding a soft hand into Shiro’s undercut so unexpectedly that his breath catches at the chill it sends down his spine. Matt scratches lovingly there, still tender, his face still hovering close. 

“Good thing you aren't looking at me, then,” Shiro chuckles, his voice stiff to his own ears as he sets the glasses aside. His hands are shaking. “You're kissing me.” 

Matt's lips part, barely visible, but Shiro’s so hyper fixated there that it's not surprising he's notices. There's another pause while Matt's hands roam, fingertips tripping across the taut muscles of Shiro’s tawny skin and Shiro’s thumb flirts with the stripe of skin visible just over the waistband of Matt's pants where they just study each other with dusky cheeks. Breathing quickly, Matt can't help but let out a shaky laugh, drawing Shiro’s attention back to him. 

Matt draws a nervous hand up the column of of his throat, reaching up to stroke his cheek gently, eyes roaming lovingly over his face. It's so innocent, because they're so young and they're so stupid, and Shiro feels warmth blooming between them in a way that's so much more than ludic. Matt's face is close again, lips so fucking close, and he reaches up to push Shiro’s bangs away from his eyes. 

“Relax,” Matt says, almost for both of them. 

Shiro does. 

\----

The belt goes quickly, to Shiro’s surprise, as he's suddenly flat on his back with Matt's mouth working over the vulnerable skin of his neck, pebbled lightly with afternoon scruff, and they're giggling again, breathless. Shiro’s silenced every few moments whenever Matt does something just remarkable and the warmth between them becomes so suffocating, and he keens upwards against him. 

They've fumbled through the more awkward stages already--the belt and dress slacks had to go, if not to simply avoid that discussion in the laundry room--and Shiro’s feeling sort of pathetic here in his thin boxers and grey tank losing his damn mind just because his boyfriend is pressing feather kisses against his neck. He hopes he's encouraging--and clearly ready at any point to return the loving to Matt, should he ask, but it's nice to be spoiled. He's got his hand fisted in Matt's messy hair, trembling a little as his rosebud mouth brushes lethargically over his clavicle, lazy, and his hips seem to move of his own accord. 

Shiro’s hand is there, too, at Matt's hip, finger tempting along the top curve of his ass, and he knows he could Matt there, stop him from moving, but doesn't. He probably should. They haven't--they haven't talked about this, firstly, and they haven't done much more than kiss. And, yeah, sometimes it went to a point that Matt had to hastily excuse himself for a shower, and, yeah, they'd been roommates for years now and there are things Shiro’s done once Matt started snoring that he isn't proud of, but this is different. Different from anything they've done before. 

Shiro slides his hand back, presses down on Matt's hips until they're flush against his thigh, the pressure suddenly there for both of them is blinding. Matt freezes. 

Shiro’s half worried he fucked up for a minute when Matt's mouth stops working tenderly over him, but when he looks down to see Matt flushed against his chest, hands fisted in his tank and his eyes clenched shut, he realizes Matt isn't stopping, he's just trying not to-- _oh_

Shiro has to clamp his thighs around Matt's to stop the reaction his body gives, and the whine Matt huffs in a hot puff against Shiro’s neck proves that, yeah, he felt it. It should be mortifying, but it isn't. 

There's several seconds where all they do is stay taut, interwoven together and biting their lips to keep from giving themselves away to the dorm to either side of them. Shiro’s mind is racing impossibly fast, trying to figure out how to ask if they could, trying to remember the Wikipedia article he'd scanned since they'd started this awkward fumble together, trying to figure out if Shiro himself was even ready for this. 

Matt decides for them, in the end, and he untangles himself from Shiro’s tank,reaching behind himself to slide Shiro’s hand up to the small of his back, lowering himself back tiredly against Shiro’s chest. 

Shiro chokes. “Matt, I'm so sorry--” 

“This isn't about me,” Matt laughs, his voice breathy, muted, and Shiro can't name a time he's ever heard it like this. His abdomen clenches, rolling, his bare thighs shaking with the effort not to rut up against Matt's leg like he's a fucking fourteen year old. “This is about you.” 

His eyebrows lower in confusion. “Babe--” 

Matt noses against his neck, pressing a lingering kiss there, before leaning up to his ear to whisper, “Just wanna make you feel good.” 

Shiro short circuits. 

\----

“Didn't think lines worked on you, Takashi,” Matt snorts, even as Shiro sighs against his chest, calloused hands roaming over Matt's soft stomach. 

“Yeah, yeah, don't tell anyone.” 

It's over, for the most part; they've used up the tension in the room--or, at the very least, taken it out like trash during their two different, individual trips to the bathroom. Shiro’s forgotten about his homework, but he'll doubtless be up again at dawn to begin the work again. 

They're in Matt's bed now, stationed below then window as the pale light pours in. It's nearing ten, and the moon is painfully bright as Shiro burrows deeper against Matt's chest. Matt's the best big spoon Shiro’s ever experienced--well, the only spoon, like ever, but he's still great--and Shiro’s lying between his legs now, lazy and tired as Matt plays with his hair. 

There'd been this nervousness for the both of them when they'd started kissing, when they'd started this, what it would mean if things were to end badly. There wasn't going to be a bad ending, Matt could tell, not with Shiro. It wasn't going to be easy, sure, but this? Tonight more than ever proved they were gonna be okay, just for a moment. 

Shiro’s hands are calloused where the touch him, catching and tripping across Matt's skin, and Matt didn't know how it felt to be adored until this. He can't lose it. 

“Sleep,” Matt urges, fighting a yawn himself, even as Shiro leans up to kiss his neck. 

“Wanna kiss you,” Shiro objects, earning a scoff, if not a blush. 

Matt can't figure out how he got this lucky, but he watches Shiro’s blurring form move over him tenderly in the low light. He glances at the sliver of the sky visible between the window shade, and he keeps wishing on stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Whoops my first voltron fic. Sorry for the stream of consciousness writing but that's just how my brain is working these days. 
> 
> Thanks so much for reading to the end and as always comments and kudos are appreciated. Have a great day ♡


End file.
